


In the Fields of Asphodel

by orphan_account



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Major Character Undeath, Necromancy, Other, i cannot BELIEVE that’s a tag i LOVE it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Asra wanders the cold paths of Death alone, searching for his master.(Following the theory that the Apprentice died of the red plague prior to Asra coming to work at the Palace, and that he used the resources there to resurrect them. With my Apprentice, Kate.)





	In the Fields of Asphodel

Asra’s breath ghosts in the frigid air as he moves through the knee-deep water. A magelight floats in front of him, lighting the way. He’s been following the river for what feels like days, and with every breath his teeth chatter. Faust is tucked under his hood against his neck, tongue flicking, tail draped around his neck like jewelry. He reaches up to stroke her head, sending a little heat from his fingers to keep her warm. 

_Miss!_ she says insistently. 

“I know, Faust. I miss her too. But we’re almost there.” He checks his course on the compass. Death is strange, shifting. It can lead you astray if you’re not careful. And Asra cannot afford to be led astray, not now, not when he’s so close. 

When _she’s_ so close. 

The path between Life and Death is an ocean of technicolor sand. But Death itself is a hundred things. The eternally dark river he travels now, a prairie of tall pink grass that whispers with the voices of the ones you’ve loved and lost (just one voice for him, just one) as you pass through, too low to make out the words…a black void that swallows sound like snow. He knows just enough about these places to reach them and not to die or lose himself in them, and to get to the next stage of the journey.

But it’s that last piece of death, that final gate, that he has yet to pass. And he must now. He needs her.

Asra’s felt so raw in the months since he saw her last. Like a piece was cut out of him with a dull knife, the same piece cut out again over and over and over before it could heal. Everyone told him after that it would get easier, that he would move on, but it didn’t and he couldn’t. She even tried to tell him the same, right up until the end. “It’s what’s natural,” she said. “It’s a path everyone has to take.” But she was afraid, and he could see it.

She left him her heavily annotated grimoires, her personal journals. Kate had loved the bloody, wild magic of the ancient masters: shape changing, divination, nature magic, moving between worlds. Necromancy. A course of study for someone who fears death so much they would attempt to reverse it, the ultimate act of hubris. Or greatness. Or in his case, love. 

So he continued her work. She’d left him stepping stones to follow, but he’d needed Nadi’s great, beautiful library to see the whole path. And the compass to do the rest. 

Asra follows the ticking needle, and it’s like he can feel her on the other end. Just a twitch. Like a fish thinking about nibbling on a hook. 

The thought of her urges him forward through the ice cold water, warming him inside, strengthening his connection to Life even as it takes him deeper into Death. That’s important here, especially. Too long in the river washes everything from before away, and his first foolish, overeager attempts nearly ended in disaster. 

He hears a noise behind him, something moving in the water. He doesn’t look back. He knows the sort of monsters that lurk here. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he keeps walking, waiting for the right moment. There’s a splash as it lunges for him, and he ducks out of the way just in time. Asra takes off running, making a hasty spell gesture with his frozen fingers. His boots pound atop the surface of the water. The unseen shadow roars and pursues him.

He runs until his lungs burn, keeping just ahead. And then the river just—…stops. The water pours down as if it’s going off the very edge of the world, a waterfall into nothingness. 

Asra tries to stop himself, but the momentum takes him right over the edge, and he falls. Faust starts to slip off of him and he holds her until she can coil around his arm.

He tumbles with her through the void, almost floating, his clothes billowing in an updraft. Then his descent slows and he can see something like color below his feet, the darkness ebbing away around it. Asra alights, softly as a feather, among flowers. It’s warmer here. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the sunlight, and then he sees.

He’s made it. He’s here. 

From horizon to horizon stretch rolling fields of asphodel. He dismisses his magelight with a wave of his hand. Asra starts to move through the towering white flowers (all white, stalk and leaves as well, like ghosts swaying back and forth in the breeze), letting his fingertips brush them as he passes. He sees something ahead, and stops abruptly.

A figure waits in the pale sea. They’re facing away, wearing plague colors—red and black—head hidden under a hood. _Her!!_ says Faust, lifting her head. Asra doesn’t realize he’s forgotten to breathe until spots start to dance across his eyes, and he digs his nails into his palms to ground himself. He sucks in a ragged breath. 

She turns languidly at the noise, lowering her hood. Tired green eyes meet his. Her gaze hits him like an arrow to the chest, and Asra takes a step back, almost losing his feet. She looks…like she did before. Whole, and healthy, even though her color is muted here and her time in Death shows clearly on her face. Dumbstruck, he stares at her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kate says quietly. “This place isn’t for the living.” She looks…bewitched. Half-asleep. 

_She doesn’t know me._ The thought cuts him like a knife, but doesn’t shock him. The waters of death eroded memory. The longer one stayed here the easier it became to forget, and he’d left her here too long. But he could call her back. With the right words, the right gesture. One book had said the blood of animals would do it, he can help her, he will help her. Whatever taboos he could break he’s done worse for her already. He’ll bring her home. 

Asra has tried to think of what to say a thousand times, he’s tried to think about how to approach her, casual, heartfelt, teasing, emotional, or just to sweep her up into his arms, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is: 

“ _Kate_.” He tries to weave spells into his voice, runes for wake, for life, for memory, but her name creaks as it leaves his trembling lips. Asra can’t count how many times in the months since she died he’s said her name praying she’d answer, wherever she was. Praying she heard him and knew he was coming, that she knew he hadn’t forgotten her. That she hadn’t forgotten him. 

He can only manage another step toward her before the world starts to spin and standing is the most he can manage. He feels sick, manic, overflowing with misery and relief in equal parts. _She’s here, I did it, she’s here she’s here she’s here but she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t remember—_

Kate blinks at him like she’s starting to wake up, that way she does in the morning when the sunlight catches in her lashes, before she teases him for watching her sleep. A disbelieving smile spreads across her freckled face. 

“…Asra?” 

The sound of his name said in her voice makes his knees give out. Asra falls to his knees, a strangled sob escaping him. He’s worked so hard, he’s pushed himself so far, and he’s been so alone—

Arms wrap around him. Fingers push back his hood and run through his soft white curls, lips press gently to the top of his head. Asra sobs into her shoulder, holding her tightly, and he can feel tears drip into his hair. 

“Don’t cry, don’t cry, you’re making _me_ cry—“ she mumbles. He nods against her collarbone, shuddering and still crying too hard to speak. 

She rocks him, holding him, murmuring to him. “You were so brave, Asra. I’m so proud. I meant what I said then, I did want you to move on, but - …I left that door open for you to walk through. Just in case. I never would have if I thought you couldn’t handle it, but I knew you could, and you did, you did so, so well—” Asra nuzzles against the crook of her neck, starting to calm down. Some part of him had been afraid she’d scold him, or send him away. Tell him to leave her and try to live. But he knew her, almost better than he knew himself. She wouldn’t leave him breadcrumbs if she didn’t think he might try to follow them. 

“I missed you,” he says roughly. “I’ve been—…I’ve been so lost—” 

Kate sniffles and takes his face in her hands and he watches her, afraid to blink in case she evaporates like mist in the sunlight.

She’s so close their noses are almost touching. “I love you,” she says. His heart stutters. After these years and the gaping maw of death separating them, it feels to Asra like she’s saying it to him for the first time. 

“I love you, too,” he says warmly, wonderingly. He laughs suddenly, the sound light and full of joy like birdsong and kisses her tear-streaked cheeks before pressing his lips to hers. Kate gives a hum of surprise and clings to him, kissing him and chuckling when he pulls her into his lap.

“I love you. I love you.” They just say it back and forth, holding each other, giggling, giddy and crying. It starts to run together, sounding like one word, then turning to nothing but nonsense. But wonderful nonsense, the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

When he’s too hoarse to keep speaking Asra pulls her down, laughing, and kisses her again, and again, and again. He braces himself above her, watching her as she looks up at him, out of the blooms of asphodel. A ghost among ghosts. But his ghost, now. She grins up at him, and he grins back. Kate twines her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulls him down into a kiss. 

“Take me home.” 


End file.
